


The Spaces Between

by mainecoon76



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: (because he really is), Action/Adventure, BAMF Charles, Canon Disabled Character, Canon Jewish Character, Christmas, Complicated Relationships, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, F/M, Gen, Hanukkah, Holidays, M/M, also several mutant students, and antagonists borrowed from comic canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 22:54:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5266943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mainecoon76/pseuds/mainecoon76
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Almost a year after Washington, Erik is working on his own to find out what became of the Sentinel research. He keeps to himself and likes it that way. But when a mutant assassin tries to murder Charles, he finds himself reluctantly drawn into an adventure that involves a dangerous plot, Charles' own agenda, a complicated relationship, and holiday celebrations at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladysparkles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladysparkles/gifts).



> Dear recipient, this is meant to fill both your holiday season prompts: "Cherik, low-key holiday celebration" and "gen, everyone is celebrating festivus". The plot sort of... exploded, but I hope you like it anyway.
> 
> The antagonists of this story are borrowed from comicverse. I've taken some liberties, but not more than the movies did - meaning to say that I used them as a loose inspiration. You can find them all on google if you're interested.
> 
> In 1973, Hanukkah was celebrated Dec 20-27th, so the first candle was lit on the evening of Dec 19th.
> 
> HUGE thanks once again to my patient beta mrs_sweetpeach (AKA Haven on AO3), who spent so much time on discussion and critical reading. You made this fic so much better!

The footsteps make a splashing sound in the alleyway.

He presses his back against the brick building so he all but disappears into the night, unlikely to be detected by a passing stranger. A warm hum of metal beside him indicates a rainpipe; he could use that as a weapon. But the footsteps pass him by, and in the dim light of a street lamp he sees a slender figure, clouded by a spray of rain. 

His mind is calm and focused. He turns towards the building again, stretching his senses for the nearest door.

It is then that he detects it: a tendril of thought brushing against his mind, a foreign presence that feels like warm water trickling into his skull.

It is a presence he never wanted to feel again. 

_Charles?_

_Hello Erik,_ a voice says in his thoughts and he quickly puts up the walls that he knows are no match for the intruder. He never had much cause to learn shielding when he could rely on the helmet.

 _Too busy for a chat, are you?_ , is the amused reaction.

 _Stay out of my head,_ he thinks furiously, and this is exactly why he needed the helmet. Nosy telepaths, invading other people's brain without permission. He does not trust Charles, the way a traitor cannot trust the one he wronged, but he will not waste any more time on regret.

 _You use your powers, I use mine,_ Charles responds coolly. _Mutant and proud, remember?_

_Go away._

_As you wish._

The presence slips away and Erik is left alone in the darkness. He leans his head against the wall and curses quietly.

There is a hollow ache in his chest, but he will ignore it. He is almost used to it now.

 

Three hours later he is on the road again, with a handwritten note in his pocket and no evidence left behind him, or so he hopes. He prefers to do his break-ins with a flourish, to leave a mark - along with a few bodies, if necessary - which shows humanity that mutants are not going to be silenced and discarded. Too many have died in those laboratories, too many still suffer in silence, hiding their gifts and trying to fit into a society that will never accept them.

(Charles is a fool.)

But he has to lie low while he is on his own. It has been almost a year since Washington, which was embarrassing altogether and ruined his chance to quickly recruit a new brotherhood, seeing that he made a complete fool of himself. Besides, the general opinion of mutants is quite lenient right now after Mystique's interference, and he could bet that somehow Charles has his meddling fingers in it as well.

(Charles is a fool.)

He leans back in his seat and turns on the radio. The sound is pretty bad; the radio is just as old as his Ford, and just as likely to fall to pieces. He fiddles for a while to get a decent broadcast while he thinks about the data he found today. In the absence of more glorious things to do, he is set to find out what became of Trask's research. The illegal experiments were not exposed to the public, which probably means the data still exist somewhere and are undoubtedly being put to use. Now he found references to a name and a city - _Steven Lang, Phoenix, Arizona_ \- and both may be a fluke but he will take the risk. 

It is near midnight, but he will drive a few more hours before sleep becomes a necessity. The road is broad and comparatively empty. Light rain is drizzling on the front window. It may become dangerous; the weather is unusually warm for the mid December, but the nights are freezing already. The interstate through the mountains will undoubtedly become icy.

The radio emits a series of short static bursts before a clipped male voice disrupts the silence.

"... report that the president is appalled by the press coverage, and insists that the events in question must be cleared up as soon as possible. NEW YORK. A car bombing in West Salem gives new urgency to the ongoing mutant debate. Well-known mutant intellectual Dr. Charles Xavier narrowly escaped an attempt on his life this afternoon when his car exploded in the parking lot of the local supermarket. Neither Xavier nor his companions were near the vehicle at the critical time. Xavier himself suggests that the perpetrators merely meant to cause material damage. Talking to you now is Eugene Hamilton, chief investigator on the case, directly from Salem..."

But Hamilton is drowned in statics which, this time, are caused by uncontrolled spikes of Erik's power. He pulls the car over until he can calm his breathing.

Nothing happened, he tells himself sternly. Charles is fine. He can take care of himself. 

There is no reason for the burning anger that pulses through his veins. Charles is more than capable of dealing with a threat. If he were the culprit, he'd be on his way to Europe right now. 

It is not like Charles wants his help.

He just sits there for several minutes, breathing slowly and stretching his senses to encompass the metal of his vehicle. The light vibrations ground him, and he loses himself in the sensation for a moment. _Let go of your rage. Calm your mind._

Then he starts the engine and takes the next exit back to New York.

 

It is a quarter to one when he pulls up in front of the gates, but still several windows are alight in the Xavier mansion. He is slightly surprised that there is no security after what happened today. Perhaps Charles sent them away.

 _Indeed._ There is nothing tentative about the way Charles' thoughts sneak into his own. A distinct feeling of annoyance makes his skin prickle. _What do you want?_

_I heard the news._

_Why do you care?_

He clenches his hands around the steering wheel. Of course he cares, and he could talk all day about why he does, except that he truly wishes he didn't. Or he could simply say that Charles is a mutant and of course he cares about violence committed against mutants, this is his major motivation, and so on and so forth. Charles will throw him out. 

_I haven't let you in yet,_ Charles points out. _Tell me why I should._

_I want to help._

A wave of bitter amusement floats through the connection.

_Charles, I'm sorry…_

_I've heard that before._

_I've found something,_ he thinks desperately. Trust or no, it is the only thing he has to offer. _Let me show you._

There is a long silence. Erik tries to keep his own thoughts blank.

 _Fine_ , Charles says eventually. _I'm not saying you can stay. Come in._

The gates open on their own accord.

 

They have tea in the kitchen.

Some things do not change after all. When in doubt, Charles would usually put the kettle on, or else suggest a game of chess and a whisky in his study. The latter option seems to be off the table for now.

The most obvious changes are the ones that make him the most uncomfortable. It is strange to note after more than ten years, but he has never seen Charles in a wheelchair. Last time they met, the chair was crushed under a concrete pillar that missed Charles' head by inches. The time before that Charles was walking and Erik accused him of giving up his powers in favour of his legs. He had not really known what he was talking about.

 _No, you didn't,_ Charles agrees and here is another thing that has changed: Charles is completely unabashed about the use of his powers. He will read Erik's mind at any time he pleases.

He never used to do that without invitation. Not until Erik shut him out with a helmet and left him bleeding on a beach.

If Charles hears the thought, he does not comment on it. Instead he fetches two cups from a wheelchair-accessible cupboard and puts them on the table. Erik takes a moment to look around and take in the modernized equipment and signs of active use; stacks of plates and bowls, an open box of cereal, children's paintings pinned to the fridge beside a picture postcard from Munich, and several handcrafted candles in the window. A note in Riptide's handwriting is attached to the stove: "Thanks for cooking, but please keep your fur out of the soup!" 

Erik had no idea that Janos is living here too.

He turns his cup in his hands. "How many students do you have?"

"Thirteen as yet." Charles gives him a sharp look. "And five teachers, three of them mutants. If you try to recruit anybody for your cause, you will find yourself in Los Angeles with no memory of how you got there."

"I didn't mean to."

"Just so we're clear on the subject."

"I'm not recruiting." He pauses, considering. "Right now, I'm not even trying to kill anyone. You would approve, I think."

Charles just raises his eyebrows.

"I want to find out what became of the Sentinel program," Erik admits reluctantly. It is not the whole truth, but close enough. "I've got some leads. Now are you going to tell me about that bomb?"

"I don't know who it was, if that's what you mean."

"So you can't be sure it won't happen again."

"I can take care of myself."

"Charles." Erik wracks his brain to think of something that gets through that thick skull. "I'm just trying to help."

Charles smiles, but it is not the bright and joyful smile that haunts Erik's dreams. This is a bitter and sarcastic expression that does not quite match the man now; he seems so much better than he did when he broke Erik out of prison and then nearly fractured his jaw. His hair and beard are clean now, even half-way neat although he is in his pajamas and wearing a ratty dressing gown, and he does not stink of booze. 

Better, but not well. Erik tries not to think of the dashing young man who saved him from drowning ten years ago. They fucked against a wall no more than twenty-four hours later, and the glorious two months that followed are a memory that has taunted him ever since.

"The last time I asked for your help," Charles interrupts him irritatedly, "after _breaking you out of the Pentagon,_ I might add, you tried to kill my sister, attempted to start a war and dropped a stadium on my head."

"I didn't know you were there, and I had to…" He breaks off. This will get them nowhere. "I said I’m sorry."

Charles' chuckle has a slightly unhealthy edge. Uncomfortable silence fills the room. Eventually Charles shrugs.

"Stay if you want. I'm going to bed now; you can tell me about the Sentinel program tomorrow. Feel free to use your old bedroom, but don't wander around and scare the students. You might get yourself grilled or floated to the ceiling."

This is entirely too easy and Erik is positive that Charles has second thoughts about it, but his face betrays nothing. They stare at each other for a moment, but eventually Charles gestures at the door. 

"After you."

 

No one is thrilled about Erik's presence at the mansion. Unfortunately he has a history with all three adult mutants who help Charles run the school, and none of them remember him fondly. Alex Summers mostly glares at him, and he doesn't need to be a telepath to know that Hank McCoy hates his guts. Riptide does not pay him much attention. He never cared much about ideology, and Erik knows he is mostly looking for a place to belong, but years ago they exchanged bitter words over Angel's death. It is clear that Janos has not forgotten, and Erik still thinks it is unfair because it was not his fault.

The human teachers give him a wide berth, which suits him just fine. Both women are living nearby and never stay for the night. He sees little of them, but if he felt a little more gracious towards them, he would concede that they seem competent. 

That leaves Charles and the students. Erik must admit that the children are delightful. They are a scattered group aged from six up to fifteen, and their mutations are so fascinating that Erik could watch them all day. A little girl, dark-skinned and white-haired, controls the weather by the force of her will. Another can catch pure light in her hands and release it in soft, pulsing balls that float to the ceiling and explode in a shower of sparkles. Alex' little brother needs to wear a specialized visor at all times because his looks can literally kill. Then there is another, a slender tawny kid of maybe ten or eleven, who has cat's claws and night vision and wears the Star of David as a pendant around his neck. Erik almost talks to him, but he does not want Charles to get the wrong idea.

Of Charles himself he sees little. If he is not teaching or locked up in his office he is generally altogether absent. Erik suspects that he spends hours at a time in Cerebro, usually looking completely worn when he appears for the meals. Still Erik cannot shake the feeling that his every move is being watched, which is outright annoying. He had not expected to be trusted, just as he does not trust his former friend in return, and Charles probably knows he is holding back information about the Sentinel affair; he cannot afford to have the X-Men butt in and spoil everything. But even then, Charles' usual veneer of polite civility is pretty thin these days.

"I checked the gate and the fences," he informs Charles on the second evening over dinner. If he is perfectly honest, it is mainly an attempt to force a conversation out of his host. "Enhanced the structure here and there, so it'll be more difficult to break in. And I thought someone could be watching us, so I looked for high-tech equipment - cameras and so on. There aren't any."

"Good," Charles returns politely. "Thanks."

"What do we do now?"

Charles shrugs. "Nothing. I run the school. You make your plans for world domination."

"Oh, for the sake of…"

He breaks off because he can't think of anything to say. Charles finishes his sandwich in silence. Hank leans back in his chair, his golden eyes travelling slowly from one to the other. He mostly wears his blue form these days, to show the students that he is not ashamed of it. Erik grudgingly approves.

"You know, Charles," Hank says after a while, "Erik has a point here."

Charles ignores him.

"I know how you…" his friend tries again, and then he falls silent. Charles looks tense, and suddenly Erik knows that they are conversing telepathically so he cannot overhear it. He rises abruptly and leaves the room.

He is used to being alone, and he does not mind. All those years before Charles he always worked alone, and if there were two months he does not think about, if there were a few years of companionship and cooperation in the brotherhood, he never really needed anyone. He would question his decision to come here in the first place, except that these fools will hide again or get themselves killed if he walks out, except that Charles needs someone who drags him out of his blissful ignorance, except that he… but it is of no use. 

He will stay a few more days to see what happens, and then he will leave. Charles can look after himself. Erik has better things to do than to sit idly in a house where he clearly isn't wanted.

 

The few days pass without incident, except that it starts to snow and the park around the mansion turns into a winter wonderland, much to the delight of the students. But just when Erik made up his mind to leave the next day and not look back, several things happen in quick succession. 

The first is that Trask's illegal experiments are exposed to the public, and a scandal breaks loose.

No one seems to know exactly how the autopsy reports found their way into the hands of the press. The grizzly photos are all over the news, unusual in their brutality even if the faces are blackened out, and a wave of public outrage hits the country. "HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN?" demands the New York Times on the front page when Erik comes down for breakfast that morning. Riptide, who had walked in behind him, takes one look at the distorted photo of what clearly used to be Azazel's body and quickly leaves the room.

There is no word of the Sentinel program, of the research that is likely hidden away in a secret lab and that is imperative to find. Whoever organized this disclosure must have been interested in justice for the victims, and perhaps to raise awareness in the public, for the debate about mutant-phobia and discrimination gains a new edge. The same evening pro-mutant demonstrations are held in many locations all over the country. Three-thousand people, humans and mutants, gather with flowers and candles for a silent protest in Central Park.

When he hears about this, Charles looks both tense and pleased.

"This is not what most humans want," he tells Erik with a gesture towards the paper. Erik does not give him the satisfaction of agreeing. Still, it is not the time to start their old arguments.

 

The next morning Hank nearly loses his hands to a letter bomb.

It is his luck that he is not only smart but also pretty intuitive. Erik is not sure what raised his suspicion and made him take the letter to his lab instead of opening it right in the front hall. He himself is taking a run on the path around the building that has been cleared of snow, letting the fresh wintry air clean his lungs, when Charles' mental call reaches him.

 _Please gather in my office,_ it says, and when he gets there he finds the staff already assembled. Hank looks surprisingly unruffled as he informs them in great detail about the chemical components of the bomb that likely interest no one except himself and Charles.

"It is of importance," Charles answers to his thoughts, "because it might give us a clue about the culprit. Opinions, please."

"The obvious," says the blonde woman named Olga - whose Russian surname Erik never bothered to memorize, who teaches politics and economy. "We must call the police."

"Noted and done," Charles agrees. "But this is the second incident in a week. I am beginning to worry for the safety of this school."

"I am worrying for your safety," Erik interjects. "These attacks were directed at you."

"A technicality. We can safely assume a mutant-phobic background."

"Probably." Hank crosses his arms and leans against Charles' desk. "Maybe not. With what you're-" He breaks off and blinks. Alex and Janos exchange a worried glance, and the second human teacher shakes her head impatiently. She is a stout, dark-skinned woman in her fifties who used to be an elementary school teacher. Her name is Fay Jenkins, and even though she is not a mutant, Erik has noticed that her opinion has almost as much weight as Charles'. 

"I agree with Charles," she says resolutely. "The kids come first. How many can we send home for the holidays?"

"Seven." Charles looks pensive. "I will ask the parents to collect them earlier. Anyway the Goldsteins are coming tomorrow to fetch Daniel for Hanukkah. We can just expand the break for all."

"The Jewish boy?" Erik asks before he can stop himself. 

"Indeed. Very nice people. I'd introduce them to you, but they're not mutants, just an ordinary family. They are very proud of their special son."

The words hurt and Charles must know it, and even so more because he is the only one who knows the scars he is touching. But this is not the time to dwell on old wounds.

"What about the others?" Erik asks instead.

"The others have nowhere to go," Alex says matter-of-factly. "We'll have to protect them. Isn't that something you're good at, Erik?"

He might as well have added "if we have to put up with you anyway," but Erik nods regardless.

"Good," Charles decides. "The police will be here soon, and I'll contact the parents later. Try not to scare the students who remain here, please. I don't want to spoil their happy season." 

 

Erik refuses to leave until the others have. It takes another wordless conversation between Charles and Hank until they are truly alone, and Hank does not seem happy about it. Charles watches him leave with a slightly sheepish expression.

"You aren't taking this seriously enough," Erik informs him without preamble.

"My friend, I assure you that I do..."

"Not when it comes to yourself." He pauses to note that Charles called him "my friend" again. "Is there no way to evacuate the school?"

Charles has the nerve to roll his eyes. "Erik, you're overreacting."

"I'm not. I led the brotherhood for years, I have some experience in this sort of thing."

"This is not a terrorist organization, so I doubt the situation is comparable!"

Erik huffs in frustration. They have one minute alone and are already at each other's throats again. He wonders how they used to manage, back when...

Charles' features soften instantly.

"I'm sorry," he admits quietly. "I don't know how to..." He runs a weary hand over his face, and suddenly he looks much older than Erik remembers him. "I spent so much time being angry at you," he says at last.

There is not much to respond to that.

"But," he continues, looking up at Erik in a way that feels wrong, "to answer your question, no. We cannot evacuate."

"Why not?"

"Cerebro," Charles explains, as if it were answer enough. "And besides," he adds with a grin, "I'm expecting a visitor."

Erik shrugs. There are a thousand things he wants to say. Charles glances up at him and suddenly Erik finds it difficult to meet his eyes, to look into the face of the man he has loved desperately for over a decade and is destined to antagonize at every turn. Charles' eyes widen and Erik tries to pull up his shields again, sleek metal walls that signal more than his conscious thoughts _KEEP OUT._

"I'm just telling you to be careful," he says sharply, and then he turns and walks straight out of the room. If Charles replies, he does not hear it.

 

The visitor is Mystique, and he should have expected that. What he couldn't have expected is that she does not come alone.

He is meditating in his bedroom when he feels a spike of joy shoot through his mind, closely followed by overwhelming relief, anxiety, love and surprise. The sensations stop as suddenly as they came, and even if there is clearly no immediate danger, he knows that something important happened and he needs to look for Charles. He finds him in the entrance hall, simmering quietly with suppressed emotion. His sister is crouching in front of the wheelchair and clutching his hands.

In the open doorway a slender boy is shifting on his feet, wrapped in thick winter garments, his face covered by a scarf and large black sunglasses. The reason is pretty obvious, especially when he reaches out to close the door with a blue tail.

Mystique is not happy to see Erik. He wonders if anyone is, these days.

"What are you doing here?" she snarls as soon as she sees him, without letting go of Charles' hands.

"Please, Raven, he's my guest," Charles protests, just as Erik retorts, "I could ask you the same."

Mystique rises and approaches him with narrowed eyes.

"I'm visiting my brother for Christmas," she snaps, "and introducing him to his nephew. I'm..." She breaks off and casts a quick glance towards the boy, who is clearly watching her. "I have some things to tell you when we're alone."

 _She means to inform you that she'll skin you alive if you try to indoctrinate her son,_ Charles supplies helpfully. _Erik, say hello to Kurt. Isn't he magnificent?_

Kurt takes off his sunglasses, unwraps the scarf and gives him a cautious smile. His skin is a beautiful shade of dark blue, but apart from that he looks so much like Azazel that it hurts.

Charles beams at him.

"Welcome in this house, Kurt," he says happily. "And Raven. We have a bit of catching up to do." He smiles ruefully. "But there'll be plenty of time for that."

"If Charles doesn't get himself killed first," Erik interjects. It is a perfectly reasonable concern.

Three pairs of eyes swivel towards him.

 _Did you really have to?_ Charles demands sourly.

His sister gives him a reproachful glance.

 

Kurt, it turns out, is a teleporter like his father.

He is seven years old and lives with a foster family in Munich, "not mutants," Mystique admits, "but they dote on him and you know the life I'm leading, he's safer with them." He seems to be happy too, as it turns out when Charles' hot chocolate makes him comfortable enough to talk. With gleaming eyes he tells them about the circus that is his home, how he is allowed to perform on stage as a real artist, about their horses and the music and the glittering costumes. There are children too, human children who grow up with him and accept him as a brother. Mystique visits him whenever she can.  
It sounds too good to be true. Humans aren't like that. They don't accept a blue boy with a tail who teleports in a puff of sulphur. 

_You don't give them enough credit,_ Charles admonishes. 

Eventually Hank offers to take the boy on a tour around the mansion and introduce him to the other kids. Kurt is fascinated with Beast's appearance and agrees to come readily, though Erik is pretty sure Hank mainly volunteered to avoid a lengthy reunion scene with Mystique. It is definitely for the better. Even Erik nearly blushed with second-hand embarrassment as both of them mumbled an awkward "Hello" without meeting each other's eyes. 

"Now, Charles," Mystique demands when they are gone, leaning on the table and fixing her brother in a yellow stare. "Who wants to kill you, and what are you going to do about it?"

Erik knew he could count on her.


	2. Chapter 2

The children who do have a home outside of the school leave over the course of the next day. There is a sense of happy anticipation in the corridors, excited murmurs and cheerful laughter as everyone is preparing for the celebrations. It does not matter, it seems, who leaves and who stays, for the kids who remain seem to be just as excited about the holidays as the others.

Sometime around early afternoon Erik finds the Jewish boy sitting alone on the stairs leading up to the first floor. He has his chin propped on his knees and smiles dreamily. A large bag is neatly packed at his feet.

Erik considers for just a moment before he sits down beside him.

"Going home for Hanukkah?"

The boy beams at him.

"Yes," he says gleefully."My parents will be here soon, so we get home before dark. It's important, you see, so we can light the first candle."

"I know," Erik tells him. "I'm Jewish too."

"Really?" The boy looks at him with wide eyes. "Are you going to light the candles?"

"Of course." He always has, except when he was held in the Pentagon and had no access to metal or candles. Not that he knew the right dates, at the time.

"My mama says it's important to show that we're Jewish and we stick together. " Daniel frowns and fingers his pendant. "She says there were times when Jews were killed, just because they were Jews. They hadn't done anything. So we have to take care it doesn't happen again."

"Yes, we do," Erik agrees, and then, without quite knowing why he says it, "My parents were killed because they were Jews."

Daniel's face falls. "Oh."

"It was many years ago." Even if the memories are choking him right now. "Your mama is right. We must stick together," he adds and musters a smile. "That's why we light the candles. Because they burn in the darkness. Because they give us hope."

"Like the Christmas tree?"

They both turn to see Kurt leaning against the railing. Erik didn't hear him coming.

"Because it's the same for us," the boy says earnestly. "Christmas is all about hope. That's why there are lights on the Christmas tree."

Erik looks from one to the other, feeling out of his depths. He is not prepared to give religious education to pre-teens.

"Yeah," he says vaguely. "A bit like that."

"I'll think of you when we light the candle tonight," Daniel tells him seriously. Erik finds himself smiling, but before he can answer, the boy has turned to Kurt. "Can you teleport me outside? It's so cool, I haven't seen something like that before, like, _ever_!"

Kurt's teeth flash white in his blue face as he laughs, and then they both disappear in a puff of smoke. Erik is left sitting on the stairs. He feels sick in his stomach.

He never stopped to consider that Daniel's parents are human.

Just like his own.

 

That same evening Erik crafts a menorah out of his bedside lamp and places it in his window. As he lights the first candle, he thinks of a Jewish boy with human parents who still has a home. He thinks of Jewish people all over the world, humans and mutants alike, who need to stick together. He thinks of the brightest corner of his memory system, and of a charming young man with light blue eyes who could see what he thought to be forgotten.

 

The third attack changes the game.

Charles is the most obstinate person Erik has ever met, which is what got them into this mess in the first place. "I'm not going to crawl into a hole and hibernate while things are _changing_ out there," he snaps at a united front of Erik, Beast, Mystique and Riptide when they try to keep him from risking his neck for an interview. The New York Times wishes to offer the position of a mutant intellectual on the recent developments (meaning, of course, the inhuman experiments and the subsequent wave of mutant sympathy), and Charles itches for the chance to explain his views to a broader public. Concerns of security fall conveniently down to the wayside. The others are forced to relent, but then Erik informs him that he won't let him out of sight, which starts the next round of argument. Eventually Charles grudgingly compromises because, yes, Erik is their best protection against bombs and bullets, and if he puts on a decent disguise and stays in the background and Charles diverts other people's attention away from him, the risk of being shot without him outweighs the risk of exposure.

They do not even get as far as Manhattan.

Erik is driving at high speed along the highway when it happens: a small grey van overtakes them from the left side, and just when it is right in front of them, the driver pulls to the side and brakes hard.

Without Erik's reflexes they would all have died instantly. He yanks their car to the side with his powers, feels the screech of metal against metal, and then the world overturns and someone is screaming and he slows down the impact with all his might. The vehicle skids a few yards on its roof before it comes to the halt, gentler than it should have done. He lifts it into the air and lands it securely on its tires again.

There. They were lucky to have him, this time.

Erik is turning around to make sure that Beast and Mystique are alright when the window on the passenger side splinters. A gloved hand shoots in and clenches around Charles' throat, expertly positioned to break his neck. 

Erik slams the metal frame of the door against the attacker. The hand does not retreat, but Charles gains a few precious seconds to grab and twist it viciously. He slips out of the clutch and Erik pulls him over just in time to protect him from the brutal blows that smash the roof. Hank roars furiously behind them, and then the attack seems to stop for a moment, replaced by the sounds of a scuffle outside. Charles presses two fingers against his temple. "Bloody hell," he curses, and suddenly there is gunfire outside and a muffled cry, and all Erik can do is take hold of the bullets and stop them. He cannot see their attackers, so he doesn't know where to strike back.

He shoves at Charles to extricate himself and join the fight, but Charles grabs his arm. 

"No use," he pants. "They're gone. See if Raven is alright."

But Mystique is already knocking on his window. Her knuckles leave a bloody trail on the glass.

"It's just a scratch, we're fine," she says curtly. "Erik, tell me that you can get us back in this wreck. Charles is not leaving the mansion again anytime soon."

Charles looks from her to Beast, who is scowling furiously, and then to Erik.

"Fine," he sighs. "Get us back. This is worse than I thought. Our enemy is a mutant."

 

"Her name is Joanna Cargill," Charles informs the assembled staff in his office. "I believe she is a mercenary, but she also has a personal interest in my assassination. I could not get much further than that, there was no time." He frowns. "I think I've seen her before, but I can't remember where." 

"You're saying she staged an accident that should have killed her, and then just - walked out of the wreck and went at your throat? Right through the window? That's weird." Alex leans against the doorframe, looking worried.

"Not weirder than any of us," argues Mystique. "Hank and I fought her. She's... really tough, I think."

"We dealt her a few blows but it looked like she didn't even feel them," Hank agrees. The two of them are standing close now, both pretending not to notice that their arms are touching. Erik would roll his eyes if they didn't have more important things to worry about.

"She isn't immune to telepathy, which gives us an advantage," Charles muses. "But I had to let her go when her back-up opened fire. She's not operating alone. I don't even think she's the brains behind this plot."

"Which is to murder you," Erik interjects, just so that Charles doesn't forget the detail. Charles shoots him a dirty look, and for a moment an unhappy silence takes hold of the room. They are a pretty outlandish group, Erik thinks. He, Charles, Beast and Mystique are still bruised and disheveled from their run-in with a mutant assassin. Alex and Fay Jenkins have fir needles in their hair and clothes; they were just putting up a large Christmas tree in the entrance hall when Charles' team returned. Jenkins is turning a box of Christmas decoration in her hands as if she doesn't know what to do with it. Riptide and Olga the economy teacher are cradling matching coffee cups, and Erik wonders if it means something.

All of them are looking toward Charles, as if they expect him to come up with a perfect solution. People do that with Charles. He is a natural leader, unlike Erik who mostly had his cause to speak for him. His brotherhood followed him because they believed in his goals, not because they liked him. Not because they were charmed by him and loyal to him and willing to die for him.

Things were always different with Charles.

Charles taps a finger against his lips, deep in thought, and Erik has to pour all energy into his shielding for a moment. This is not the time for sexual fantasies.

"We cannot evacuate," Charles decides eventually. "And we don't have to. There is no safer place for us than this house. But I fear we'll have to barricade ourselves on the estate; anyone who steps outside will be put at risk. I don't believe that includes you yet," he adds towards Fay and Olga, "so you should decide for yourself if you'd like to leave now before we lock the place down. Fay, you'll want to spend Christmas with your family."

Jenkins nods, looking unhappy. "I can't stay away. My son is bringing his fiancé."

Olga shrugs. "I was planning to visit my parents in Chicago, but if I can be of help here, I will."

"Thanks, dear." Charles gives her a brief smile. "So this means that after Fay is seen off, no one is to leave the building without expressed permission. We have enough provisions to last a few days until this affair is sorted out."

"And what are we doing to sort it out?" Mystique demands.

"Unfortunately that means Christmas is going to be a quiet affair. No feast, no sleigh rides, outdoor activities are reduced to a minimum. I cannot monitor the grounds at all times. But I'm sure we can make it worthwhile for the students in spite of..."

"And _what,_ " his sister interrupts him, "are we doing to sort it out?"

Charles' face remains impassive. "I'm working on it."

"That's a relief." Erik feels his cheeks grow hot with anger. "I don't suppose you could share your plans with us?"

"Not yet," Charles replies smoothly, "but I assure you that I am..."

"Because I, for one, would really like to know what we're getting into!"

"Well excuse me if I'd rather not reveal my more delicate designs," Charles snaps, "considering what happened last time I trusted..."

He breaks off and looks away. 

Nobody has a reply to that. There is no sound except for the loud ticking of three different clocks, and Erik feels their digits moving steadily in the silence as the moment drags on.

Somewhere above them a door slams. A girl is laughing, followed by a delighted shriek.

Eventually Fay musters a smile. "If it is allright for you, I will take my leave of the students," she says resolutely. "You'll contact me, Charles, if there's anything you need? And you, young man," she adds towards Alex," return to your Christmas tree right now. I'll hold you responsible for it, and I expect photographs."

"On my honour, this will be the most glorious Christmas tree the school has ever seen," Alex declares with a smirk. Riptide and Olga take the hint and follow on their heels.

 

So it is back to the four of them again, Erik thinks. Their lives are oddly entangled, Charles' and his own, Mystique's and Beast's. Or perhaps it is just that these are the people who love Charles most, and none of them know how to show it properly.

Charles wheels himself toward the window and stares at the wintry park outside. It will snow again soon; heavy clouds are gathering in the west.

"Tell us what we can do, Charles," Mystique says quietly. "We're worried."

"Nothing right now." Charles sounds tired. "Make sure the students have a good time. Keep the gates safe. Tell Kurt to watch where he teleports to."

Mystique opens her mouth to argue, but instead she hesitates and stares at Charles for a moment, clearly engaged in a telepathic conversation. Eventually she nods sharply and reaches for Beast's hand, draws back, touches his arm instead. Beast turns and follows her outside.

It makes Erik want to break something.

"So you're trusting everyone but me," he establishes once they are gone. "Everyone" is probably limited to Beast and Mystique, but Erik is not in the mood to quibble over technicalities.

Neither, it seems, is Charles.

"I wonder why that may be," he retorts. He is still staring out of the window, not even bothering to meet Erik's eyes.

"I saved your life today."

"Yes. My sincerest thanks."

Erik grits his teeth. Waves of frustration must be emanating from him now. Charles turns around, but his bright blue eyes are cold.

"Is this the part where you tell me you're sorry, and we've been given a second chance? Because I don't buy that anymore, Erik."

"I'm trying to protect you, Charles!"

"You're saying that now," Charles returns acidly, "and as soon as it suits you, you'll fuck off and ruin my plans because it's all for the greater good."

"We could work together. I've always wanted that."

"If I accept your rules, yes. If I don't..." He breaks off, and Erik is hit by a wave of bitterness and hurt. "You've broken my heart one time too many, Erik." 

There is a finality to that which Erik cannot accept. He cannot argue much in his favour, because Charles is right; he will always do what he believes necessary for his cause. He cannot sacrifice the greater good for his own happiness. 

But the school, Erik must admit, is something of value. It is a place where mutants are safe. It is a place that makes them happy. Charles has achieved more for mutantkind in this one year since Washington than Erik has ever since he founded the brotherhood. Erik has never found mercy in humans, but now that he lives in Charles' world, it is there for all to see.

A Jewish boy with human parents who goes home for Hanukkah.

A small blue teleporter loved and cherished by his human siblings.

Human women teaching mutant children how to get by in the world.

Perhaps there are not quite as far apart as they both thought they were. He can only hope that it is not too late for Charles to see it, too.

"I'm sorry," he says, even if Charles does not want to hear it, because it must be said. There are so many more things he wants to tell him - _please forgive me, I wish it had all gone differently, why must you be so stubborn, I love you, I never wanted to hurt you, you broke my heart too_ \- but he does not know how. Charles is not looking at him anymore; it is impossible to say if he picked up any of these thoughts.

Erik leaves without another word.

In the evening he takes his menorah down to the front hall and places it on a table next to the Christmas tree. Three candles are burning brightly for everyone in the school to see.

 

For some reason the The Sun lies on the breakfast table when Erik comes into the kitchen the next morning. He nearly spills his coffee over the headline.

"DID THEY SAVE US ALL? SECRET CIA REPORT REVEALS MUTANT INVOLVEMENT IN THE CUBA CRISIS"

"The media are on a serious pro-mutant roll right now," Riptide observes. "Curious."

"That's all you find curious about this?" Olga cocks an eyebrow and smiles at him over the rim of her teacup. "I'd rather know how they got wind of it. It's been kept quiet for a decade." 

Erik wonders briefly if she knows the exact nature of Janos' involvement in the matter. She should not be this much at ease with someone who used to follow a mutant supremacist, but once again his own standards seem to fail when it comes to actual real-life relationships. The look Janos gives her is clearly affectionate, and no matter if they are friends or something else entirely, they seem to handle their relations better than Erik does - with anyone, really. Not for the first time he wonders what he is doing wrong.

"What one man can hide, another can discover," Janos argues. "There were hundreds of witnesses. I bet someone got paid a nice sum for this."

Hank and Mystique exchange a significant look. Charles smiles grimly and says nothing.

 

Erik is a patient man. He was a hunter for many years, trailing his prey that was Sebastian Shaw with tenacity and endurance. But it is one thing to wait in cold blood until the perfect time comes to strike, and another to be caged up in a house with a bunch of people who don't like him very much, waiting for something indefinite to happen. 

The least he can do is to make himself useful. He bolts the doors and secures the windows. He gets familiar with every piece of metal in the house. Eventually he even finds himself decorating the entrance hall with wreathes and silver bells. Four mutant teenagers watch with wide eyes as the glittering ornaments float through the room and fix themselves to the railings, across the chandelier and over the doors. (He may be showing off his powers, just a bit.) 

He chops vegetables and changes light bulbs and attempts to be civil toward Olga, who still quite sensibly avoids him. It does little to calm his spirits, but other things begin to change around him. Alex asks his opinion on the decoration of the Christmas tree. Janos offers him a cup of tea when they meet in the kitchen. Mystique watches him light his menorah, and when he meets her eyes she gives him a guarded smile.

Charles is polite and reserved, but that is not even the worst thing. The worst is the pallor of Charles' skin and the deep shadows under his eyes and how he nearly dozes off in the middle of dinner. They all can see that he is running himself into the ground, and he will not even let Erik know what he is doing. It adds to the feeling of uncertainty which is increasingly hard to bear.

 

On the evening of December 24th Erik goes to the entrance hall at sunset to light his candles and finds the table that holds the menorah decorated with a beautiful silken tablecloth. Kurt and four of the other children are lounging on the stairs, laughing in delight as little Ororo makes it snow on their heads. They come over to watch as Erik says his blessings.

For so many years Hanukkah was a solitary affair for Erik. There was no family to share it, no fellow Jews to celebrate, yet he has always held onto the tradition because it was important to do so. Now these kids are gathered around the table in awed silence while Erik lights the candles, and they listen quietly to his recitation of the traditional hymn. It may not be their own religion, but they seem to feel the sacred nature of the ritual all the same. Afterwards they end up sitting on the stairs while Erik tells them stories of his people, of the rededication of the temple and the miracle of the burning oil, of Judith and Holofernes, of Moses and the Exodus from Egypt. Alex walks out of the kitchen at some point and looks on for a while before he sits down quietly on the steps. Later Erik realizes that Mystique is leaning against the wall on the top of the stairs, watching them with her strange yellow eyes.

He also feels Charles' mind brushing against his own, warm, calm and quietly interested. It is enough for the moment.

After dinner - a modest one, because no one could go shopping and so they have to make do with Hank's vegetable soup, thankfully devoid of fur - everyone gathers around the brightly lit Christmas tree. The entrance hall, usually wide and spacious, is almost cozy in the warm candlelight. They have brought enough armchairs and cushions to make everyone comfortable. Charles has made sure there will be small presents for the children on Christmas morning, but for now there are cookies and songs and stories. Kurt tells them how his German family celebrates on Christmas Eve, and Janos teaches the kids a Spanish song. Alex and his brother Scott offer hot chocolate to the children and punch to the adults, Beast and Mystique continue their awkward game of feigned disinterest while Kurt watches them curiously, and Olga narrates Russian folk tales and explains the traditions of Orthodox Christmas, which is celebrated in January. The children are allowed to play hide-and-seek until well after bedtime.

Erik remains in the background. It is not the tradition of his people, but he will honour it as the others honoured his, and so he mostly watches Charles watch the festivities. His friend's tired features are softened by a smile, and his calm serenity touches the minds of all and spreads like a glow through the entire room.

It feels almost like home.

 

It is near midnight when Alex and Hank usher the kids to bed. Mystique goes with Kurt, and Olga manhandles Charles into his wheelchair and sends him off to his bedroom after he dozed off on the sofa beside two boisterous teenagers. Then she helps Erik and Janos collect the cups and extinct the candles, and Erik is surprised to find how much he enjoys the quiet familiarity.

It lasts only a few minutes before the lights go out.

Erik can feel the sudden change in the electromagnetic energy before the room around them goes dark. The quiet hum of the fridge dies in a splutter, and the radio chokes off in the middle of "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing".

"What the hell…" says Janos, but then he falls silent and cocks his head to listen in the darkness. In the flickering light of the last candle Erik can see him and Olga frozen to the spot, as if they wait for something to happen.

Erik stretches his senses. The hum of metal around him is calming, but he can detect nothing out of the ordinary, no disturbance in the wiring, no mechanical defect that could explain the sudden…

_Erik._ Charles' mental cry disrupts him from his thoughts and fills him with a cold dread. _There is someone in my bedroom. Please hurry._

He drops his tray and runs.

A burst of panic hits him as he skids around the corner and into the corridor that leads towards Charles' private quarters. Charles has not entered the room; he is evidently trying to retreat, warned by his telepathic sense, but now a bulky man in a tight blue suit has broken down the bedroom door and advances on him. Charles does not freeze him or mind-control him, but there is no time to ask why. Erik tears the doorframe out of the wall and hurtles it against the attacker. Charles is still wheeling frantically backwards and Erik can't see why his mind is screaming because surely they will deal with this, but then the man _duplicate_ s and then there are two of him, and then three.

Erik throws himself in front of his friend and pulls every metal object within his reach to hover between them and the attackers, but it will not be enough because there is no telling how many of them there are, and then he sees a flurry of blue as Mystique throws herself on the strange intruder who simply duplicates again. There is a flash of light as Alex' power slams one man against the wall. Beast comes running but Erik cannot look because he is busy choking one attacker with an iron poker and beating another over the head with the doorframe. Both figures disintegrate before he can finish them off. "It's only one man," Charles gasps behind him. "He keeps slipping away, I can't control him…"

" _Down_!" comes Riptide's voice, a sharp command, and Erik knows what it means so he pulls Charles out of the wheelchair onto the floor and protects him with his own body. A sudden hurricane rages through the corridor, tearing at their clothes and hair and hurtling every loose object madly through the room. Erik ducks as the wheelchair misses his head by inches and slams against the wall beside him. He can hear a panicked shout from a deep voice he does not recognize, then a crash, and when the whirlwind stops there is the sound of someone scampering away. 

"No you don't!" Mystique shouts, and when Erik looks up she is jumping gracefully to her feet and sprinting into Charles' bedroom. Hank runs after her. Inside there is the sound of breaking glass, and then the chase appears to continue on the lawn. 

Erik lets go of Charles and brushes his friend's hair out of his face before he can think better of it, but Charles catches his wrist. "Not now," he says, and though he seems shaken it sounds like a command. "Help them, knock him out, we need him."

It is easy enough to obey once Erik has reached the broken window. The strange mutant is moving with alarming speed, too fast for Beast and Mystique to catch up, but they distract him enough to miss the iron shovel until it hits him hard over the head. He collapses on the lawn. A moment later Charles' voice cuts through Erik's thoughts, _Got him._

The smell of sulphur fills the corridor just as Erik returns to the others, and suddenly a very sleepy blue teleporter appears in the middle of the melee. "Why," he demands accusingly, "are you making so much noise?"

 

The stranger called Timeshadow leaves an hour later. He will collect his belongings and take the next flight to Australia, where he will come to his senses without any conscious recollection of the past few weeks.

"Don't look at me like that," Charles tells Erik as the two of them watch him leave in the darkness. "You always knew I could do that. It just contradicts my usual code of conduct."

"To which there are exceptions."

"You're in no position to judge me, Erik," Charles returns, unimpressed. "I won't be able to sleep any time soon. Fancy a drink in the study?"

Erik looks around, but the others have already gone to bed. Everyone is thoroughly drained. They reassured the children, cleared away the rubble and fixed the wheelchair. Afterwards they met briefly to discuss the situation, but agreed that further action could wait until morning. The electricity has not returned, so while the disturbance is surely related to Timeshadow's attack, it seems that it was not caused by him.

Charles should definitely be in bed, but Erik is not going to look the gift horse in the mouth.

The study looks very much like it used to ten years ago. Books have been rearranged, furniture has been moved aside to make space for the wheelchair, but it has the same look and feel of an old library, complete with heavy carpets, a well-stocked liquor cabinet and a cozy fireplace in front of which one could read and play chess and debate about mutant politics. They did other things in front of that fireplace too. He will not think about those too closely, nor about the last time he saw this room, the evening before his dreams fell apart on a tropical beach. They had argued, yes, and slept together afterwards, but he had never imagined that they were living on borrowed time.

He lights every candle he can find while Charles fetches two tumblers and a bottle of single malt and maneuvers himself onto the sofa. Erik chooses the opposite armchair. It would have been nice to sit beside his friend, to touch his face and stroke his hair and savour the feeling that they survived; but he does not think his affections would be welcome.

Charles does not comment on his thoughts. Instead he gestures at the chess set, and the wry grin they share makes it obvious that it is, at least, a peace offering.

They play for a while in silence. Very soon it becomes clear that Charles is losing dramatically. He is not paying attention at all and plays even more poorly than he did on the plane, when his mind was drugged, clouded by anger and grief and deprived of its most crucial sense.

After the second defeat he leans back with a sigh.

"I'm afraid that I'm in no shape to put up a fight," he admits ruefully. 

Erik risks a grin that might, under certain conditions, be interpreted as flirtatious.

"And here I thought I was playing the greatest mind of our century."

"This great mind would like to go to bed." Charles blinks sleepily, but then he frowns. "Especially because we must find Cargill tomorrow. I'm still not sure about the motive. They're both fanatic mutant supremacists, but Timeshadow didn't know much about the background."

"Cargill was the one who organized the thing." This is something Erik is good at; his mind works best when it is calm and focused, channeling his emotions toward the tasks at hand. "She must have gotten her instructions from somewhere."

"And she wasn't the one who turned off the electricity." Charles turns his glass in one hand. "That wasn't just a distraction. They don't want me to use Cerebro."

"You've been using Cerebro an awful lot lately."

"I wish I could remember where I met her." Charles massages his temple. "It must have been recent. And it wasn't a clear image, though her mind was familiar..."

A thought brushes Erik's mind, little more than a vague impression of darkness and rain and cold... 

... and the splashing sound of footsteps in a dark alley.

Erik slams his glass on the table.

"Charles!" He points at his temple, and Charles, with a questioning look, mirrors his gesture. Then Erik remembers - in the presence of the powerful mind that aligns itself to his own, it feels like he _relives_ \- the cold brick against his back and the spray of rain that blurs the dim light of a street lamp, he sees a slender figure passing by and this time Erik feels the faint brush of her mind: steel, fierce determination and the prospect of profitable business. She is on her way to meet someone who has a job for her.

Charles drops his hand and stares at him.

"Erik," he says slowly. "What were you doing in that alley? What exactly did you find?"

Erik's blood turns cold.

"It was the office of a man called Larsson," he recalls. "He had some connections to Trask, but no major part in the construction of the Sentinels. At least that's what my sources said. But he knew someone who had. The correspondence I found in his office mentioned a guy called Steven Lang..."

"Trask's right-hand man, top-grade scientist, doctorate in genetics. Any information as to his whereabouts?"

Erik glowers at him. Trust Charles to simply know the things Erik needed months to find out.

"Phoenix, Arizona," he admits reluctantly.

"Says who?"

"Apparently his labs are there." 

"That doesn't mean he is as well." Charles leans forward. His eyes are gleaming in the dim light, and suddenly Erik sees the young man who looked at him just like that, ten years ago, and told him that killing would not bring him peace.

He was right.

"Think, Erik," Charles tells him animatedly. "He is influential. He has the means to bribe someone to cut off the electricity, and he might know... that is to say, he could well perceive me as a danger. If he means to continue Trask's research then he has a solid motive to murder me. He, or one of his associates."

There is a flaw in that logic.

"Didn't you say that Cargill was a supremacist?"

"And a mercenary. Perhaps she doesn't know who Lang is, but she'll know of me and the job will suit her." Their eyes meet for a moment, and Erik feels a stab of guilt. He discards it angrily; even if there was no history between them, he would never have tried to murder a fellow mutant just because his views were inconvenient.

At least he hopes so.

"If she doesn't know, this could be a chance to get her on our side," Charles continues, "for the time being. When you talk to her tomorrow..." He breaks off and takes a deep breath. For a moment none of them speaks. Erik can feel a slight sense of apprehension in the air: anxiety, indecision, hope. Charles sighs.

"Erik," he continues at last. "If I trust you to do this tomorrow... will you play by my rules? Handle it with discretion and avoid a bloodbath? And you won't run off..." - and his mind finishes before he can stop himself, _... run off with Cargill and become Magneto again?_

It is a delicate question. He would like to say "I would never," but that would be a lie and Charles knows it. But right now, in this moment, he feels confident enough to be sure he won't, not this time. There is no need, he always wanted to work with Charles, and besides... Charles does not need to tell him that this is his last chance. Their friendship, or whatever is left of their love, will not survive another betrayal. An open disagreement, perhaps, one that ends in a mutual parting in their ways; but there can be nothing but honesty between them now.

"I cannot promise that no one will die," he admits. "But I'll do what I can. And I won't run away. I promise you that much."

There is a wave of gratitude in Charles' smile, and Erik finds himself hoping feverishly, against all odds, that now Charles can bring himself to trust Erik again, anything is possible.

"I must stay here to protect the school," his friend adds, like an afterthought. "Raven and Alex will go with you. But now we must get some sleep, or we won't be good for anything tomorrow."

"That's right," Erik says, and then he watches the flickering shadows on Charles' handsome face and thinks of missed opportunities and says, "Come to bed with me."

Charles just looks at him, not exactly surprised but suddenly much more guarded.

"Please," Erik adds, just in case he didn't make his point clear.

"Erik, I don't think that would be wise."

"And I think it would be foolish to waste any more time."

"That was hardly my fault," Charles snaps, and Erik bites down the retort because this will only lead to another pointless fight. Instead he leaves the armchair to sit down beside Charles, and he lifts his hand to settle it on Charles' cheek, slowly, giving him ample time to pull away.

Charles just stares at him.

_I love you,_ Erik thinks, _I never stopped loving you,_ and Charles echoes in his thoughts, angrily, _But you left me,_ and then they are kissing and drowning and nothing else matters. A storm of emotions rages through Erik's mind, Charles' or his own because they are impossible to seperate, _passion, love, anger, fear, want, desolation_. He clenches his fingers in Charles' hair and Charles groans and Erik is blinded by graphic flashbacks of slick, hot skin, of fierce kisses and frantic coupling and Charles' body writhing beneath him, Charles’ hands on his hips as he is shoved against the wall, and then Charles breaks the kiss, flushed and panting.

"You don't know," he manages, "It's not the same, Erik, we can't, not like that..."

Erik ignores his aching arousal for the moment to lean his forehead against Charles'.

"I know," he says, "It's my fault, and I'm sorry, but we'll deal with it. I love you. I missed you. Please come to bed with me."

Charles makes a strange noise that sounds almost like a sob. He says nothing for a long while, but he strokes Erik's face and Erik is happy to hold him, to touch him, to pretend that everything will be fine. Thoughts are slipping into his mind, _I missed you so much_ and _Why did you do this to me_ and _If it happens again I don't know what to do,_ and Erik runs a hand through his shaggy hair and shushes him like a child.

Eventually Charles sighs and pulls away. His eyes are very dark in the dim light.

"I don't want to have sex tonight," he clarifies. "But I will come with you, just to sleep, if that’s agreeable to you."

"Anything you want," Erik says, and he means it. This is so much more than he had dared to hope for.


	3. Chapter 3

Waking up next to Charles the next morning is a surreal experience, but the bliss of it does not last very long. Erik is still stretching his limbs, reveling in the quietness of morning and the sunlight that streams through the curtains and the warm feeling of a familiar body beside him, when a cranky voice invades his thoughts. _If you need to be awake at this ungodly time, could you just go away and take your morning run?_

"I'm very comfortable right now," he returns with a lazy smile. "And it's almost nine. Rise and shine, darling."

A mop of unruly dark hair emerges from the pillows. Charles looks vaguely like a disheveled grumpy cat, and Erik very much wants to kiss him and make love to him all day and forget about the world outside.

Charles is also still a telepath, and Erik is treading on thin ice.

 _I need longer to get ready, and I don't want you to watch,_ Charles informs him tersely.

Well, there's that. Things are not quite what they used to be, but for the first time in many years Erik believes that they may turn out well after all.

 _I'll be in the kitchen,_ he returns blithely. He leans down to kiss Charles' cheek before he leaves, and a feeling of warmth follows him all the way downstairs.

 

Two hours later he drives his old Ford towards Brooklyn. Mystique sits beside him, calm and focused in her favourite human form, which evokes memories both good and painful. Alex in the rear is constantly playing with his wristwatch. It would get on Erik's nerves if he wasn't aware that they all have their idiosyncrasies to deal with stress, and Alex is a Vietnam veteran who copes better than most. Neither of them talks much; there is nothing more to say. They are aware of the importance of their mission, and have planned it carefully.

Cargill lives in a large, unremarkable apartment building. Erik has little trouble getting them past the electronic lock on the entry doors. They take the elevator up to her floor, and when they reach her door they knock politely to indicate their good will. The aim is to convince her, after all; they promised Charles not to use force unless absolutely necessary.

A tall, dark-skinned woman opens the door. She wears tight, flared jeans and a loose grey jumper, and Erik cannot help but notice strikingly muscular thighs. Her shoulders, too, are surprisingly broad for her slender figure. She looks thoroughly unwelcoming.

Erik offers his most persuasive grin.

"Good morning," he says. "My name is Erik Lehnsherr, but I am publicly known as Magneto. I believe we have common interests." He takes a coin out of his pocket and lets it spin in the air.

Cargill's stern features relax into a smile.

For nearly an hour they sit on her shabby sofa, each sipping a can of coke and telling her everything they know about Trask, about the illegal experiments, Steven Lang and the Sentinel program. Erik sees no point in lying about anything. The horrible facts speak for themselves.

Cargill listens patiently, interrupting now and then with a question, but always perceptive and straight to the point. Erik has to admit that he likes her. She is a soldier with a mind of steel and no use for sentimental feelings. He understands now why Charles feared that he would leave with her; if he had met her before he stumbled into Charles' orbit again, they could have worked well together.

"So you're working with Xavier now?" she demands when they have finished. 

"We have a common enemy." He hesitates for a moment, but feels intuitively that she won't take any attempt of deception well. "And we used to be friends. I don't usually agree with his methods, but I don't want him dead."

Cargill just cocks an eyebrow and tucks several of her tight black braids behind her ear.

"The problem, right now, is Lang," Erik reminds her, "or so we believe. Will you help us find him? Your assistance would be invaluable."

Her gaze rests on him for a moment, large dark eyes that express nothing of the thoughts that are going through her head. She nods curtly.

"I have an appointment with my employer today," she says, and Erik does not tell her that they knew as much since Charles read Timeshadow's mind. "Let's not waste any more time."

 

The alleys around their destination look much more welcoming in broad daylight, even if they are now covered in wet dirty snow. It takes them ages to find a parking lot nearby, which amuses Mystique to no end. "Look at this mighty team of mutant superheroes," she comments quizzically when Erik turns around yet another block. "We can't get a ticket for unauthorized parking while we're saving the world, right? Good guys don't do that."

"We're trying to avoid attention," Erik snaps, but he raises his hand and lifts one of the orderly parked cars out of the lot, around a corner and right onto the pavement. "There. Satisfied?"

"You're corrupting us with your criminal energy." Alex smirks and jumps off his seat.

Cargill tries and fails to hide a grin.

The plan is sensible, fool-proof, and not to Erik's liking. They have to find out if the employer really is Steven Lang, then snoop around as much as they can and plan an efficient break-in both to the office building and the man's private home for the following night. Charles was adamant that they must be patient and not take risks. He hopes to uncover the entire organization in a much more efficient way than Erik, being on his own, could ever have dreamed of. In the wake of the autopsy reports, the public would lunge upon the scandal, and the primary culprits would likely be sentenced to long prison terms.

Erik's major objections concern the part where he is supposed to wait outside as back-up because his face is known to the public. The others will have no problem getting in; Cargill has an appointment and Mystique has taken the appearance of Timeshadow, and they will take Alex with them as a supposed new-found ally. Erik leans against a wall nearby, draws his scarf up his face and pretends to read a newspaper.

 

Things go according to plan for seventeen minutes and twenty-four seconds.

There is no way Erik could mistake the distinct sensation of gunfire for something else. It must be two revolvers, maybe three, and he is already on his way into the building, not caring who sees him and throwing the security lock at the entrance open with a flick of his wrist. The guardsman at the entrance has no time to give alarm before Erik knocks him out with his own rifle. Another burst of fire leads his way through a maze of white, modern corridors. There is the sound of a scuffle and choked scream, several explosions that must be caused by Alex, then a few more shots from a single pistol that feel different than the others, heavier, denser, followed by a loud curse that sounds like Cargill. 

Erik sprints around several corners and into a large room that looks like a computer lab, where he stops dead in his track.

The room smells of blood and gunfire and molten wiring. Three prone figures are on the ground, security guards, one of them clearly dead with his neck broken the same way that Charles narrowly escaped. His teammates have barricaded themselves behind a metal door that someone ripped right out of the frame behind them. Four more guards have trained their weapons on them; one is holding a pistol loaded with adamantium bullets.

Before Erik can react, he hears the tell-tale cocking of a weapon behind him. He reaches for it, but feels nothing.

"Welcome, Mr. Magneto," says a pleasant voice. "I was hoping to make your acquaintance sooner or later, though I must say it would have been politer to announce your visit."

Erik turns around slowly to look into the face of a handsome man in his mid-forties, white, brown-haired and clad in a fancy suit. He is pointing a plastic revolver right at Erik's heart.

 

"I expect you know a few things about our organization here," the man continues, "so it will not surprise you that we are prepared for mutant attacks. Your interference was just a matter of time, which is why..." He waves the plastic weapon, and Erik grits his teeth. "… just as I would never do business with Miss Cargill over there without an adamantium weapon somewhere in my immediate vicinity. I know your race regards mine as underdeveloped and weak, but there are ways to compensate."

Erik glares at him. There is no sound from the others. Mystique's mind, at least, must be working frantically, but there is not much she can do at present. She is a master of subterfuge and hand-to-hand-combat. Alex could take out two or three adversaries from his position, but not enough to free them. Cargill is held in check by the adamantium bullets. 

It seems that they will have to solve this with their wits.

Unfortunately Erik is not a diplomat, nor has he any motivation to bargain with men who murder others to create efficient weapons, and all metal in the room begins to vibrate as he tries to control his fury. Before he has decided on what to say, Alex speaks up from behind the barrier.

"You have the wrong idea," he says. "We came here to do business with you, Mr. Lang."

The man's eyebrows shoot up at the mention of the name, which Erik can only guess to mean it is correct. "Then why did your shapeshifter snoop around in my building?"

"Routine security procedure," Mystique chimes in. "I guess we should have expected the mutant detectors, otherwise you wouldn't have noticed."

"We want Xavier out of our way too," Alex continues, sounding entirely serious. "With all the trouble he's making."

"What do you know about that?"

Alex laughs softly. "It's obvious, isn't it?"

He must be very good at bluffing, Erik decides, unless he is in Charles' confidence after all.

Lang frowns and looks back at Erik.

He wants to smash the man's head in with an iron bar. He wants to grab all the metal in the room, chairs, tables, tools, electronic equipment, and hurl it at their enemies with enough force to crush them beneath it. But he would be the first to die, so for now there is not much to do but to play along. "I don't like you," he forces out, "but for now we could work together. They neutralized Timeshadow. We could be useful."

It is at that moment he feels something brush against his mind.

Lang looks thoughtful.

"I already disabled his mind-reading machine," he says, "at least for now, so no more spying on secret reports and influencing newspapers. But he's far too powerful to let him live."

"Exactly our thinking," Mystique says smoothly.

"On the other hand," the scientist muses, weighing his plastic gun, "you are rather too powerful as well."

Again a foreign thought touches Erik's mind, faint, very far away.

_… keep him talking, I'm almost…_

"Useful," Mystique says quickly.

"You are certainly useful, blue lady," Lang smiles. "Bolivar wanted your DNA ever since that incident in Paris. Today is a very lucky day."

"What if we cooperate?" Erik says through clenched teeth. 

"I don't think so." Lang's finger brushes the trigger thoughtfully. "Your bodies are far too valuable to take any chances, and you're too dangerous to be left alive. Unfortunately I think I'll have to forget everything I ever knew about this organization and make a new life in Argentina. I always wanted to be a cattle farmer."

Erik stares at him.

Lang drops his weapon to the ground. The security guards follow suit.

"I hate to say it, but sometimes money really is the key to all problems," the man continues genially. "Especially when people have been bribed to turn off the current. Make sure you take the blueprints to our Arizona labs with you when you go. The evidence you'll find here will be enough to incriminate everyone involved in the research."

Mystique begins to chuckle.

"Hello, Charles," she says. "Nice to know Cerebro's back online."

"Hank says hello and asks you not to get yourself killed," Lang tells her with a smile. "But now I must ask you to take the important notes and leave. No one will remember you were here. There was an explosion in this room, apparently, no doubt some technical malfunction, very tragic." He looks sadly at the dead security guard. 

Alex and Mystique scramble to their feet. Cargill stands too, but she does not come over. She remains frozen to the spot and stares at Lang with wide, disbelieving eyes. Blood soaks the right arm of her leather jacket and drips into a puddle on the floor.

"He can get a little scary," Alex tells her apologetically. "But he means well."

"That's Xavier, isn't it? Inside his head?" She looks around helplessly. "And everyone else's, too?"

"Yes, and it's taking a great deal of effort so I'd appreciate it if you hurried up," Lang says. "It's been lovely to meet you, Joanna. You're welcome at the mansion any time."

She gazes at him with narrowed eyes, thoughtful and calculating. "I don't think so," she says eventually. "We don't see eye to eye, and we never will. Come on," she snaps at the others. "Let's go."

 

Cargill refuses to come with them when Erik asks her. "I won't be Xavier's lapdog," she says bluntly. "I don't know what happened to you, Magneto, but I still know what we're fighting for. Our day will come."

"Sure it will," he replies, but the words taste stale on his tongue. It's not so easy to tell what he believes these days. Cargill smirks and walks away without another glance, back towards the block of flats where they picked her up, and Erik watches her until she disappears from view.

 

The sun is beginning to set as they return to the mansion. Several mutant teenagers are engaged in a snowball fight near the front entrance, and when Mystique gets out of the car, a very wet blue child appears right beside her and wraps her in a tight embrace.

Erik has rarely seen such a smile on her face.

Charles is asleep, Beast tells them when all adults gather in the kitchen, and it would be better leave him be. Now that the threat to the school has passed, he can finally allow himself the rest he needs so direly. There is nothing urgent to do, except for the fact that it is already getting dark so Erik goes to the entrance hall to light his candles. He is surprised to find that the others follow him. It makes him slightly uncomfortable to have them all watch, Beast and Mystique, Alex, Riptide and Olga, even little Kurt who suddenly popped up next to his mother. This is an intimate ritual, one that is sacred to his people and should not be turned into an act of entertainment. But as he watches the others standing around him, he understands that they are not trying to entertain themselves. It is a way to show him their respect and acceptance.

Later he follows Hank and Mystique to the lab to help with the analysis of the blueprints until he gets the distinct feeling that his presence is not appreciated. He wanders aimlessly around the mansion for a while, sits in a window and watches the snowy world outside, then helps Alex to prepare pasta for twelve. None of it answers the questions that are nagging in the back of his mind.

 

Cold has never bothered Erik much.

Yellow light pours over a snow-clad lawn from the windows of the mansion, but otherwise the wintry park is shrouded in darkness. It suits Erik. Darkness is his friend; it is a place to hide, to pursue his own agenda unseen and unheard by other people. It is also very different from the white plastic walls of his prison cell. This darkness is vast and open. The fresh, cold air is easy to breathe, and there are rustling sounds in the distance, small animals in the bushes and the movement of wind in the firs.

He is settled on a garden bench under a tree just outside the patio, far enough from the lights to enjoy the night. It seemed a good location to put some order to his thoughts, and he must have been here for quite some time, if his freezing toes are any indication.

It would also explain the soft crunch of footsteps in the snow. Mystique drops on the bench beside him without invitation. He notes that for once she is clothed in a thick red coat and fur-lined boots. She leans back and gives him an appraising look.

"Well?"

"I wasn't looking for company," he informs her, not unkindly.

"Doesn't mean you don't need it." 

He chooses to ignore the comment. Unfortunately he knows her well enough to know she probably won't go away until it suits her.

He waits for a moment, but when she makes no effort to explain herself, he stretches his legs and buries his hands in his pockets. "What do you want?" 

"Just someone to… bounce ideas off, I think." She smiles briefly. "Are you going to stay?"

"No," he says automatically.

"Where are you going?"

He really has no idea, so he shrugs.

"I'll have to bring Kurt back to Germany in two weeks. After that… well, there are Lang's labs, though I thought we could do that earlier if you'd like. And there is so much work to do. So many other mutants who need help." 

"And other humans who need to be stopped."

"Of course that's what you think of." She gives him a chastising look. "I want to come here more often, though. Hank and I, we are…"

He gives her a side glance. "I know."

"Bothered?" She smiles wryly. "I know about you and Charles too. You'd get the shovel talk if it would do any good."

"Charles is a big boy."

"He's my brother. At least in every way that counts."

They sit for a while in silence and watch their breath cloud in the air.

"What about you?" she asks eventually. "You're not going to walk out on him again, are you?"

"Of course not." He frowns and shakes his head briefly, but the truth is that she sees right to heart of the problem: that he has no idea how to handle this. He knows he never wants to hurt Charles again. He will most likely fail.

Mystique watches him with her large yellow eyes.

"I don't know," he admits at last. "I want to be with him. But we can't leave the cause, Mystique. Someone has to do the dirty work, and he won't do it."

"I think he already does."

Erik shrugs, frustrated that she refuses to see his point. "Perhaps. But he won't pick a side, and I wish we could make him see that we have to."

"No, we don't. It's all black and white for you, Erik, but life isn't like that. There are spaces between. I've learnt that during the past ten years." She pauses and traces the pattern of the bench with one blue finger. "I will fight for mutant rights, but I will not kill every human who stands in my way. Kurt means everything to me, but to do right by him I have to entrust him to others. My brother can be an obnoxious git, but I will never abandon him again." And then, softly: "I loved Azazel, but that doesn't mean I can never love another.“

He does not know what to say to this. Maybe she has a point. A pretty good point, even. He will have to think about it.

She draws her knees up and embraces them. Suddenly it occurs to him how achingly glad he is that she is still alive, and he would like to say something of the sort, but is not sure how it would be received. Instead he takes a chance and puts a tentative arm around her shoulders. "I'm glad you are my friend," he tells her.

She gives him a brief, questioning glance, but then she smiles and leans her head against his shoulder.

 

Lang never becomes a cattle farmer. He dies in a car crash just a few hours after a technical malfunction in his office building killed one employee, which, as the police report, appear to be completely unrelated events. No outside influence is assumed.

Erik is not terribly surprised. He thinks of Joanna Cargill, of allies and foes, and of spaces between.

Another headline in the New York Times is far more prominent, and Erik is acutely aware of Charles' gaze as he reads it over breakfast the next morning.

"MUTANT INTERFERENCE IN CUBA PREVENTED WORLD WAR".

"I never thought the serious papers would pick that one up," he remarks, marveled. 

Charles smirks. "Read it."

The findings are supposedly based on a secret CIA report, which is probably true, but the facts have been ever so slightly adapted to the purpose. There is no mention of Shaw. According to the article a small band of mutants had stopped the hostile troops from firing at each other and very nearly been killed for their trouble. It ties in nicely with the overwhelming wave of sympathy mutants have received from the media, and, in reaction, the general public since Washington.

Erik lets the paper sink onto his sticky toast.

"You are a menace," he declares. "What happened to your moral standards?"

Charles sobers instantly. "I still have moral standards," he protests, "but the future I saw, Erik, it is something that happened in spite of them. I mean to prevent it at any cost. If that means I have to play dirty now and then, I will."

"You think this will help?"

"I hope so. If they see us as friends and allies, they won't build weapons to wipe us out." He sighs and traces the rim of his teacup. "I still don't like it," he admits.

But life, Mystique had said, is not black and white.

Erik reaches across the table and catches Charles' hand. Charles looks up with a happy smile. How different they are, Erik thinks, from where they stood a few days ago.

"Don't get yourself killed tomorrow, yes?" His friend's gaze becomes slightly apprehensive. "Not you, not my sister, not anyone else if you can help it."

"We're professionals," Erik retorts, but as this is not necessarily a reassurance, he adds, "We'll do our best." It does not mean the raid of Lang's lab in Phoenix will go entirely without incident, but at least they will not make an example.

"Good." 

Charles lets go of his hand when Beast shuffles into the kitchen, looking decent enough but only half awake. He heads straight for the coffee machine, only turning briefly to give Charles an irritated glare. Charles smirks. Erik prefers not to know what that exchange was about.

 _You'll be back afterwards, won't you?_ says Charles' voice in his head. _Will you be here for New Year's Eve?_

 _I'm Jewish,_ Erik returns, needlessly.

 _Then don't make it about the New Year,_ is the amused reply. _I'm told there's a raucous party taking place at this house. I'm paying, so I feel entitled to invite a date._

Now that would definitely an incentive. 

_A real one?_

_A real one_. Charles' light blue eyes are twinkling. _If you don't get too drunk to find out what exactly that entails._

_I'll keep it in mind._

They share a smile, and Erik feels Charles' quiet satisfaction seep into his thoughts and warm him from the inside. They do not have to make great plans for the future; they can cherish what they have, and perhaps this time, Erik thinks, there is a chance that everything will go well.

The feeling that trickles through his mind comes very close to peace.


End file.
